<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>i'd let you had i known it (why don't you say so?) by somepeoplearewild</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22568722">i'd let you had i known it (why don't you say so?)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/somepeoplearewild/pseuds/somepeoplearewild'>somepeoplearewild</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A wee bit of grinding but no sex, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Cheerleader Derek - Freeform, Derek Hale &amp; Stiles Stilinski are the Same Age, Diet homophobia, M/M, Pining, STILES IN A SKIRT, Super peppy stiles, Unrequited Crush, cheerleader stiles, derek in a skirt - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 09:08:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,741</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22568722</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/somepeoplearewild/pseuds/somepeoplearewild</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is a cheerleader. Stiles is a cheerleader. Stiles demands to have the option to wear the same uniform as the girls and ropes Derek into it for solidarity.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>290</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i'd let you had i known it (why don't you say so?)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I literally suck at writing don’t look at me.</p><p>Title: Say So - Doja Cat</p><p>not proof read</p><p>also there’s a bit of mild homophobia in here. </p><p>tw// mention of sexual assault between Derek and Kate</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s the principle of the fucking thing,” Stiles says over the phone. “We should at least have the <em>option</em> and vice versa.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Derek stares down at the maroon and white polyester death sentence on his bed, trying to come to terms with the fact that this is his fate. And he has no one to blame but himself and his hopeless crush.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The thing is, Derek doesn’t have a problem with his uniform. He likes knowing that his penis and testicles are safely secured inside of a pair of pants, and the soft Lycra shirt is very flattering on him. But when his teammate Stiles approached him after school two weeks ago with a determined look in his eyes as he ranted about how he should get to wear the same uniform as the rest of the cheerleaders but that the principal won’t let him, Derek threw away all of his own opinions in favor of nodding along with everything Stiles brought up.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Our uniform is so ugly,” he had said, leaned against the lockers beside where Derek was getting ready to go home. “They seriously just threw together some spare joggers from the lacrosse team and a white shirt. Could they be any more transparent with their opinion on male cheerleaders? Not to mention, I know for a fact that Malia has asked to wear pants, and they won’t let her.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Somehow that conversation had ended in Derek agreeing to help Stiles protest by demonstration, meaning Derek gets to wear a skirt for the next week.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know if I can do this.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Come on, Derek. I know your ass was made for those pants, but this a chance to make a difference!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His ass?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Derek turns around, examining his butt in the mirror. It’s not huge by any means, but his mom has called him Bubblebutt all his life so there must be something there worth grabbing. Maybe he should start wearing tighter jeans to school...</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Earth to Derek!” his phone yells from the bed, startling him out of his thoughts. “Do you have it on yet?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, not yet.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, call me when you get to the school. I’ll wait for you in the parking lot.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">••••</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Apparently, when Stiles said he would wait in the parking lot, he <em>literally</em> meant in the empty parking space next to his Jeep, blocking anyone else from parking there until Derek pulls up. And he’s suddenly so thankful he wore compression shorts under the skirt because getting a boner at the sight of Stiles in that tiny little skirt might force him to examine things about himself that he’d rather just <em>not</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh my god, Derek!” Stiles bounces on his feet giddily as Derek gets out of his car, his bourbon eyes practically sparkling. “You look so cute in this uniform!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Derek tugs the back of his skirt down self consciously, following Stiles who practically skips through the parking lot. If there’s one person in Beacon Hills who belongs on a cheer squad, it’s him. Derek’s only there because Coach Bradley and Coach Finstock were in a civil war over whether he was going to play basketball or lacrosse, neither of which interest him. So last year, when Stiles was loudly complaining to his friend that they needed some more muscle on the squad, Derek jumped at the chance to spend twelve extra hours a week in close proximity with his crush while also making himself unavailable for other sports.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I feel dumb,” Derek grumbles after witnessing a girl they pass do an actual spit take. “I hate this.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I feel a slight draft. Good call with the shorts. I might have to wear those tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re not wearing anything underneath it?!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Stiles just shrugs with a facial expression that clearly reads, ‘<em>What can ya do?</em>’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Derek?!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Oh god. </em>Not Laura. Not right now.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Derek plasters what he hopes is a smile on his face and turns around to greet his older sister. Of course, she’s not alone. The universe would never allow Derek the chance to calmly explain the situation to his sister. He has to be humiliated by her entire entourage of pretentious friends first.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Kate, the worst of them, is the one to make a snotty comment as it is her god given right to treat everyone like shit with little or no repercussion. She’s had it out for him ever since she tried to stick her hand down his shorts at Laura’s pool party over the summer and Derek panicked and threw his cup of punch in her face. He didn’t <em>mean</em> to. It was just a reflex. A well-deserved reflex.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That’s also the reason why Laura lets Kate be a bitch to him. Before, he was always off limits to Kate’s verbal rampaging, but ever since the pool party, Laura’s just been letting Kate terrorise him. She’s under the impression that Derek threw his drink in Kate’s face after she asked him out, and Derek’s been too embarrassed about the whole thing to set the record straight.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Interesting fashion choice. Is the skirt for easy access, or are you still pretending you’re straight?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Laura’s outraged splutter is cut off by Stiles’ calm response, the boy crossing him arms and giving Kate an unimpressed look.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There’s not an outfit in the world easier to access than yours, Kate. Or are you still pretending you haven’t slept with the entire basketball team?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Watch it, Stilinski. I’m not afraid to hit a girl,” Kate snarls, getting right in his face. With her ridiculous leather boots, she’s nearly the same height as Stiles, but for some reason Stiles doesn’t seem to care that he’s about to get his shit rocked.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, but are you afraid of breath mints? Jesus fucking christ, are you decomposing?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Derek snatches Stiles back by his collar before Kate’s hand can connect with his face, putting himself between Kate and Stiles. Although Derek is quite docile and tends to be soft spoken, he‘s well aware his size and how to use it to his advantage, straightening his posture and squaring his shoulders in a way that reminds everyone he could easily kick their asses. Not that he would ever lay a hand on another person, much less a woman. He just hopes Kate doesn’t call his bluff.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You should go to class, Kate.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Or what? You’re gonna hit me?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Derek entirely blames the adrenaline for what he does.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks past Kate to Laura and says, “Kate tried to grab my dick at your birthday party. She stuck her hand in my pants while I was getting a drink, and I freaked out.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Derek doesn’t wait around to see the fallout, ushering a slack jawed Stiles down the hallway by his shoulders. He’s still staring up at Derek when they get to the door of his first class, his pretty brown eyes blown wide. It’s probably the longest Derek’s ever seen him go without talking, and it’s kind of throwing him off.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” he asks impatiently, squirming under the attention. He’s used to people ogling him, watching him wherever he goes, but it’s nerve wracking when it’s Stiles’ eyes on him. He’s the only one Derek cares to be seen by.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You uh.... thanks,” Stiles mumbles, uncharacteristically shy all of the sudden. He backs away from Derek a little, bumping into the wall behind him, and Derek takes a step back so that he’s not crowding him. Stiles feeling uncomfortable is the last thing he wants.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s no problem. You stood up for me. It’s the least I could do.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I promise I’d let you do a whole lot more-“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Stiles, I need to see your homework!” Scott wheezes as he skids to a stop in front of them, shaking up his emergency inhaler and taking a hit. He looks like garbage, clothes disheveled and hair sticking up in all directions as if he’d literally rolled out of bed and booked it to school. If Derek weren’t two seconds from screaming in frustration at being interrupted, he’d probably be amused by the fact that Scott’s got on two different shoes.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Did you forget again?” Stiles sighs exasperatedly, already digging through his backpack for his binder. It’s a testament to his and Scott’s friendship that Scott doesn’t even bat an eye at Stiles’ skirt. Or maybe this isn’t the first time Stiles has worn a skirt. Maybe–</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Derek tightens his grip on the straps of his backpack until it hurts, tuning back into the conversation just in time to see Stiles give him an apologetic look and follow Scott into the classroom.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And now he’s is left alone in the hallway, in a skirt, with his imagination running wild with the possibility of what Stiles meant by he’d let him do a lot more.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">••••</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Braeden laughs the minute she sees him, doubling over her desk in a fit. It’s not fair that Stiles gets kind-hearted, accepting Scott as a best friend, while Derek gets stuck with a rude bitch who laughs at him and dates his younger sister. Then again, at least she remembers to do her own homework.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Please, I’ve been through enough this morning.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, Derek, you look great,” she grins, pulling her bag off the desk behind her so he can sit down. “It’s just that I can’t believe you actually did it. You are so whipped. Maybe I shouldn’t be laughing. This is sad. Just ask him out.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Derek pulls his book out, flipping to the page on the board as he refuses to give Braeden the privilege of direct eye contact. “No thank you. I’ve been humiliated enough today. I’m not asking him out while I’m wearing a skirt.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So you would if I found you some pants?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Pussy.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Pussy eater.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, I also eat her ass.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Derek moves seats.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">••••</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With all the shit Stiles gets up to on a regular basis, everyone knew the principal was headed straight for a mental breakdown, so Derek’s not really phased by Principal Argent calling him out of class to scream in his face like a maniac. One glance at Stiles says it’s all he can do not to laugh. Principal Argent doesn’t appreciate this.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You think this is funny, do you? Making a mockery of our school’s name with your little display?!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“With all due respect, sir, we’re not breaking any rules.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Stiles snickers, and for once Derek wishes he would just be quiet. Derek can talk them out of this if Stiles would just let him. He’s more than willing to sacrifice his dignity and do all the ass kissing himself. All Stiles has to do is <em>shut up</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Unfortunately, that it is the one thing that Stiles can’t do. Derek is 3000% sure that there is no alternate universe or timeline in which Stiles can keep his trap shut. Everyone has one intrinsic characteristic that they couldn’t be considered themselves without, and for Stiles that is his mouth.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You will not speak to me about respect while you’re sitting in my office in a skirt! You are both suspended for three days, including extra curricular activities, and if you ever try something like this again, I will permanently ban you from participating in any sports at this school. Now, I will be calling your parents to pick you up immediately.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, please call our parents, the <em>sheriff</em> and the <em>mayor</em>,” Stiles replies calmly, batting his eyelashes in a way that’s somehow innocent, mocking, and threatening all at once. Derek stares straight ahead at the edge of the large, mahogany desk, lamenting the fact that it’s too far away for him to slam his face directly into it as hard as he can.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Derek has always suspected that Principal Argent has probably killed a man; he has the cold and calculated gaze of a man that would hunt humans for sport if he thought he could get away with it, and despite not serving any time in the military, he carries himself with the carefully practiced composure of someone who’s seen the carnage of war and secretly craves to see it again. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And it seems like Stiles is dead set on testing that craving.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“In fact, I already called them.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With impeccable timing, Derek’s mother enters the office without knocking, the secretary on her heels, requesting that she wait in the lobby to be called back. The young woman deflates as she realises her effort is futile, trudging back to her desk in defeat.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I got here as soon as I could.” she says to Stiles first, not even acknowledging Principal Argent as he tries to school his composure back into the kind old man facade he puts on for parents. He still looks like he’s about to blow a gasket, hands shaking where they smooth down his tie.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thanks, Talia.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And since when is Stiles on a first name basis with Derek’s mother?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m assuming this is about the skirts,” his mother states bluntly, crossing her arms with an expectant brow raised in the principal’s direction.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mayor Hale,” Principal Argent begins, in this placating tone that’s sure to drive Derek’s mom up the wall, “There is a certain decorum we expect of students at this school. Holding protests and showing a blatant lack of respect to school officials by publicly challenging the rules they have set forth is strictly prohibited.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Has it explicitly been established that this is a protest? Have they been rallying the support other students? Physically or verbally disruptive? Handing out flyers? Forming petitions? Doing anything typically indicative of a protest?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mayor Hale, with all due respect-“ Stiles snorts, earning himself a stern glare before Principal Argent continues. “This is not the first time Mr. Stilinski has attempted to combat this particular rule. It’s no coincidence that he was in my office two weeks ago ranting about the uniform, and then he shows up in exactly the clothing I refused to let him wear. The clothing itself is disruptive.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not disruptive on girls,” Stiles grumbles, relaxing into the seat as Derek’s mom pats his shoulder consolingly.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s a very good point, Stiles.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’re not here to make points,” Principal Argent grinds out, losing more of his composure with every word. He takes a breath before continuing. “This is not up for debate. Your son and his friend can either change their clothes and permanently drop the subject, or they can serve the suspension period for insubordination.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And how long would that be?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Three days.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A barely there smirk ghosts over Talia’s lips as she turns to the boys. “That sounds like enough time to play some video games and organise a school board meeting, doesn’t it?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Derek resists the urge to groan as Stiles perkily replies, “Why yes it does.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Then it’s settled. I’ll be taking the boys home. Sheriff Stilinski sends his apologies for being unable to make it. He has a job to do. Rest assured, I will be <em>fully </em>informing him of the events of this little meeting. Boys?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Talia stares the principal dead in the eyes, sickeningly sweet smile on her face as she ushers the boys out of the room.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">••••</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Your mom is so cool,” Stiles sighs happily, relaxing into the sofa as he pats his full belly, pizza box completely empty on the coffee table. For someone who’s wearing a skirt and no shorts, he sure is fearless about sitting with his legs spread wide open. It puts unholy thoughts in Derek’s head, but thankfully he’s too close to being in a food coma to even imagine acting out his impulses. His penis is even too tired to be interested.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Derek agrees, not wanting to bring up how hotheaded and stubborn she can be at the risk of seeming ungrateful for all that she’s doing to defend him. Plus, it would be really shitty of him to complain about her helping him out of a mess that he’s only in because he wanted to impress Stiles.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And all of this has ended up with Stiles in his house and pizza so it’s not exactly like Derek’s suffering. Physically. Emotionally, he is in turmoil.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My dad probably would have just made us take off the skirts. Speaking of, you know you don’t have to keep the uniform on anymore, right?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank <em>fuck</em>,” Derek breathes out, sitting up long enough to peel the top over his head and chuck it at the floor with a little more force than necessary. The rough fabric had been irritating his nipples all day anyway. He leaves the skirt on just so he won’t be left in his underwear. Wouldn’t want to make Stiles uncomfortable.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, that’s just unfair.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Derek shoots Stiles a questioning look, but Stiles doesn’t see it, too busy glaring at Derek’s stomach with a scowl.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How come when <em>I</em> eat a whole pizza, I look four months pregnant, but when <em>you</em> do it, you still have porn abs?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Porn abs? Derek glances down at his stomach, running a hand over the toned muscles self consciously. Usually the abs are a selling point. Like, <em>literally </em>a selling point. The owner of the gym he used to go to actually requested that he work out shirtless despite it being against safety and health codes because apparently more women were buying memberships just to watch him workout.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His mom doesn’t let him go there anymore.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Derek decides to skip the porn abs comment all together, not sure of how to respond, but also scared that he might reveal how much he cares about Stiles’ opinion of him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You don’t look pregnant,” he says instead, earning an exaggerated eye roll.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I look like one of the Teen Mom girls.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Stiles, you look fine.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“‘Fine’. Way to make a girl feel pretty.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">••••</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Stiles and Derek end up doing homework at the kitchen table after that. Well, Derek ends up doing homework anyway. Unlike Stiles, who ends up playing Pokemon on a DS he randomly produced out of the void, Derek actually has to read the books to pass his classes. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Derek is nose-first in his world history textbook when a deafening scream of his name nearly scares him into cataplexy. His heart has barely resumed beating before Laura comes barrelling into the kitchen, practically throwing herself over the table in her attempt to capture him in a hug that’s mostly just her grabbing him by the head and hauling his cheek against her chest.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m so sorry about everything with Kate. I’ve been a horrible sister. I should have never let her walk all over you like that.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s fine,” Derek grunts into the fuzzy arm of her purple cardigan.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Laura ignores him, continuing on dramatically like the annoying theatre kid that she is. “You’re my baby brother. I’m supposed to protect you. But instead I made you feel like you couldn’t come to me while I provided support to your attacker-“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Laur,” Derek tries again, eyes watering and nose itching from all the little fuzz particles he’s breathed in.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Also, it’s no one’s business if you’re gay, but if you are I still love y-“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her soliloquy comes to an abrupt halt as Derek sneezes violently into her sweater, accidentally covering the fabric in a spray of spit. Laura hurls him back into his seat with a horrified shriek.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I fucking hate you! You’re so disgusting!” she screams, ripping the sweater off as fast as she can. She throws it in his face before stomping out of the room. And Derek is glad to see her go, thankful that the Kate situation hasn’t changed the way she treats him. Derek and Laura have a very special dynamic where they both exist and are annoyed at each other for it.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is that my DS?” Cora growls from the doorway.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">••••</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The moment a pair of sweat pants touches Derek’s ass, he has to hold back a moan. This is it. This is his fucking comfort zone. This is where his ass belongs. Not in spanks.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He collapses on his bed in exhaustion, waiting for Stiles to get back from the bathroom. His mom isn’t due home until about seven, having to stay at work later to compensate for the long lunch she took to go to the school, and Sheriff Stilinski won’t get off until much later, so it was pretty much decided that Stiles would be spending the night. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Derek is not freaking out. And he’s most definitely not fantasising about what it will be like to wake up to Stiles lying next to him. And he’s <em>super</em> not planning to watch him sleep at any point in the night. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, Jacob, are you allergic to shirts or something? Have a little compassion; my heart can only take so much.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you want me to put on a shirt?” Derek asks sincerely, sitting up so he can read Stiles’ facial expression. It’s kind of necessary when the boy is so prone to using sarcasm that it’s hard to tell when he’s being serious. Derek’s caught off guard by the burst of fluttering in his stomach at the sight of Stiles in the middle of his room, practically drowning in the sweats and t-shirt Derek had loaned him. Derek can feel his face heating up, glad that that’s the only physiological response he’s having right now. Better the blood go to his cheeks than somewhere else.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Stiles just kind of stares at him for a second like he’s a unicorn, before snapping out of it and lobbing his wadded uniform at Derek’s face.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, I don’t want you to put a fucking shirt on, you idiot.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What do you want from me?” Derek groans, flopping back on the bed. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s a loaded question, my friend, and you are not ready for the answer.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">••••</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Derek lies in bed texting Braeden while Stiles entertains himself, inspecting Derek’s room from top to bottom, pulling things out of drawers and the closet to ask questions about them.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I just think it’s really weird that you have a kitchen knife in your bedside table.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I use it to open things. And also to stab my guests in their sleep.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hilarious. If you’re going to kill me, at least choke me to death so I can feel some pleasure in my last moments.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Stiles leaves, Derek is going to have a talk with his penis about all this weird stuff it’s suddenly interested in because Derek is not the kind of person who gets turned on by crossdressing and choking. He’s a simple person with simple pleasures. Not a sexual deviant.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hellooooo? Earth to Derek!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">By some miracle, Derek catches the shoe that Stiles lobs at him before it can hit his trachea.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Stop throwing things at me!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Stop dissociating every time I mention sex!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Derek lets out a frustrated groan and rolls over (onto his rapidly developing boner which HURTS), blushing so hard his insides must be frying. Stiles said the word ‘sex’ in his bedroom while wearing his clothes, and Derek’s response is to <em>blush</em>. It’s so fucking mortifying, and that just makes him blush more. Now he’s officially suffering.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh my god, you’re blushing. Are you embarrassed to talk about sex?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The bed bounces as Stiles apparently flings himself onto it like a spider monkey. Derek is still too embarrassed to turn over and make eye contact, so he can only imagine the devilish grin on Stiles’ face as he derives glee from Derek’s pain. Also he is hiding the world’s most inconvenient physiological response, so he can’t turn over even if he wanted to.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I promise I’m not judging you, but, like, it’s just sex. It’s a normal part of life. You can only ignore it to a certain extent given that we wouldn’t even be talking about this if our parent’s hadn’t fu-“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Derek shoots up, using the hand that he slaps over Stiles’ mouth to push him backwards. Derek keeps his hand securely over Stiles’ mouth, pinning him to the bed by his face. At least he doesn’t have a boner anymore or else this would be doubly awkward in a very bad way.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do not finish that fucking sentence. I swear to god, Stiles. I swear to <em>god</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And there Stiles goes making those huge, stupid Bambi eyes at him like he did in the hallway. He’s just lying there completely still, staring up at him. Fuck, Derek’s probably scaring him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m so sorry,” he gasps, backing off of him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Stiles seems to ignore him, not moving from where Derek pushed him down.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know I’ve done a lot of bad things. Reading my father’s case files while he’s passed out drunk.... jacking off to the thought of Adam and Eve being naked in the Garden of Eden... telling Scott not to get a haircut so I would look better next to him.... but what have I done to be tortured like this? Are not my sins forgivable?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What? Stiles, I barely pushed you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Stiles shoots up at that, fingers scrabbling frustratedly against his buzzcut as he fails to find any hair to grab. “You put your giant hand over my mouth and gently manhandled me in your bed, and you think I can just recover from that?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I didn’t even leave a mark! You’re fine!” Derek squeaks urgently, terrified that the sheriff’s son is about to press charges or something equally as damning.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know! You didn’t even leave a mark! You monster!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He-what? Derek is so confused. “Do you <em>want</em> me to leave a mark?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s a loaded question–“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“–and I’m not ready for the answer! Whatever that means! What do I have to do to get an answer from you?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Stiles folds his arms petulantly and huffs, “Be gay.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I AM!” Derek shouts before he can stop himself, immediately following it with a panicked “<em>SHIT!</em>”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Stiles gapes at him, mouth hung wide open.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You can’t tell anyone. I haven’t told anyone. Please, Stiles, promise me you won’t tell anyone.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Stiles continues to stare at Derek as if he’s a unicorn and not a grovelling, pathetic mess.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Promise me. Please.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The initial shock seems to wear off as Stiles’ eyes suddenly turn sad.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why don’t you want anyone to know?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Derek thinks about it for a second, not wanting to say something that will offend Stiles, who is openly bisexual and proud of it. He must take too long because Stiles speaks again.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you afraid of what your family will say? They all accept Cora; why wouldn’t they accept you?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not worried about what my mom would say. Or Cora. Or Laura. I just... there’s this guy I like, and I’m worried if he finds out I like him...”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That he won’t feel the same?“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Derek nods, deflating completely.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is he... you know?” Stiles flops his hand forward limply.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah. Kind of. I think.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So,” Stiles starts, taking a deep breath before he restarts his sentence. He looks sad even with the obviously fake smile he plasters on. He probably feels bad for Derek. The thought of Stiles pitying him makes Derek wish he’d never told him. “So... you’re gay. And there’s a guy you like. Who’s also gay. And your friend. So you clearly get along well. I would.... I would probably be afraid to tell him too. Or I would make it seem like a joke. We’re all afraid of things, okay? You don’t have to.... you can talk to me whenever. I’m kind of going through the exact same thing.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Derek scrunches his nose up as he tries to think of who Stiles is into, starting at the top of Stiles’ friends list. “<em>Scott</em>?” he asks with way more disgust in his voice than he means to show.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Stiles gags jokingly, although he actually looks a bit green at the idea of being more than friends with Scott. Derek feels a bit guilty for being relieved, but if Stiles liked Scott then Derek would have zero chance of ever getting Stiles’ affection.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I would rather saw my own penis off with piece of dental floss.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Jesus, Stiles.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No offence to Scott, the handsome boy that he is, but I’m more into.... ‘athletic’ guys, I guess. Guys that are way out of my league. Even if I wasn’t basically brothers with Scott, he’s too... average. I’m more into the amazingly hot and muscular and kind type. The volunteer firefighter type.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Interesting. I was thinking about being a firefighter. Or an EMT. Or a teacher. I haven’t decided. I just want to help people.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of fucking course you are!” Stiles crows, almost hysterically, making Derek jump. He’s smiling, but it has to be the most distressed display of happiness Derek has ever seen. “You’re a good person! Good on the inside! Good on the outside! You’re fucking perfect, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Derek clenches his jaw. That definitely sounded like an insult. “What’s that supposed to mean?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It means nothing!” Stiles cheers, his tone of voice betraying the acid in his smile. “Everything means nothing! I can’t do this! My heart is a wasteland, and I live in desolation!!!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Derek watches in horror as Stiles breaks down in tears while waving around imaginary pompoms. He doesn’t know what to do, so he mimics what his mother does for him, and pulls Stiles in for a hug. Stiles goes easily, mumbling something too quiet for Derek to hear.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What was that?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t think we can be friends anymore,” Stiles whines against his chest before bursting into a fresh set of tears. And now Derek wants to cry too. But he’s not going to. He has to put Stiles’ feelings first.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why?” Derek just barely manages to squeeze out. It’s hard to talk and not cry at the same time.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Because I can’t be supportive of what you want. I’ll be a bad friend, and you deserve good friends.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re not a bad friend, Stiles. You always support me. Why would that change? Is it.... is it because I’m gay?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Stiles sniffles, not even flinching when Derek recoils from the hug. Of all the people Derek expected this from, Stiles was the very last.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re gay and perfect. And I am me and pathetic.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Derek’s quickly developing betrayal melts into confusion. “I’m so lost.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s he got that I don’t?!” Stiles suddenly explodes, apparently over crying. “I’m a cheerleader for fucks sake! I have a 3.8 GPA, and I can do the splits! I almost got assaulted by Kate Argent for you! She’s going to kill me! I’m too young and flexible to die and at the hands of a homophobe!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Well, this is it. Stiles has officially lost his mind. Derek should have known when he asked him to wear a skirt to school, but he ignored the signs.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What are you talking about?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re the firefighter! You’re the fucking firefighter! I can’t believe you thought it was Scott!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Firefighter?</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Holy shit. Derek’s the firefighter.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh my god. I said all that stuff– I made you think– You have to be fucking kidding me!” Derek sees hurt flash in Stiles’ eyes and quickly rushes to explain himself. “You’re the friend!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I appreciate the effort, but I know I’m not,” Stiles says bitterly. “I’ve been hitting on you ever since you joined the squad. You had plenty of chances, but you just don’t see me that way. It’s fine. I’ll get over it.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What? You haven’t been hitting on me!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“‘Derek! Your butt looks really good in those pants!’ ‘Derek! Here’s my number!’ ‘Derek! Let’s go to the movies!’” Stiles mocks in an overly perky voice. “I literally asked you on a date, and you brought Braeden! YOU friendzoned ME!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I thought you were just being friendly! Oh god. I’m an idiot. Look, Stiles–“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Here we go. Let me down gently.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, listen! I’ve liked you since... since before I even knew I was gay. I’ve always liked you. I only joined the cheer squad because I like you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I thought you joined so you wouldn’t have to play lacrosse.” Stiles squints at him suspiciously.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, yeah,” Derek blushes. “Truthfully, I didn’t want to play any sports at all. But one day, I was being a giant creep and listening to you talk to Scott, and you said you needed more muscle on the team. So I joined so that I would finally have a reason to talk to you. Also because I am a bad person, and I thought we would get to do the stretches from Bring It On.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You wanted to do Bring It On stretches with me?” Stiles asks hopefully, sounding more like himself. <em>Thank god.</em> Derek never wants to see Stiles meltdown like that again because of him. It was equal parts sad and scary.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Among other things.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is that why you freak out every time I talk about sex?” Stiles scoots closer to him, with this innocent smile that just screams ‘I’m the big bad wolf’. “Is it because you think about me when you think about sex?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Derek can’t find his words, tongue heavy as he nods slowly. He won’t be surprised if he wakes up to a stain on his sheets. It feels so surreal to hear Stiles’ voice dip low like that, to feel Stiles’ fingers play a silent song up and down his thigh.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t believe you. I’m gonna need some solid proof,” he simpers. Tease.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Derek reflexively looks down at his lap and Stiles’ eyes follow, landing on the unmistakable outline of Derek’s dick in his pants. He bursts out laughing, and even Derek can’t help his begrudging smile.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I asked for solid proof, and you did not disappoint!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck off,” Derek grins, pulling Stiles into his lap.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There you go. Manhandling me in your bed again.” Stiles pretends to get comfortable, clearly wiggling his ass against Derek’s dick on purpose. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Derek doesn’t even feel embarrassed when his hips jackknife, grinding up into Stiles, who gasps and whines. Probably a bit too loudly even for the thick walls. He manages to get in touch with his brain long enough to ask, “Shouldn’t we kiss or something first?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Or we could jack each other off right now, and I can eat the cum off your dick. Then we can kiss.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Derek groans through the ache of want that flashes through him. He’s so glad he put on a skirt today.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Spare comments? Spare comments?</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>